There is nothing left in this house except the things that belong to me. My scratching post that looks like a bent toilet brush, my basket of toys and brushes. Best of all, my fuzzy, puffy pouf and of course, my food. I must face the fact that we are camping now. The furniture upon which I leave my fur is now but a memory. These humans cannot be reasoned with. Take note of my facial expression. This air mattress has no give!
Last week, some strange men arrived to load into a container all the items upon which I like to jump. They even packed the many shiny black components that keep the man and the woman entertained for hours on end. I was trapped inside a bedroom for the duration. My mewling and sticking of out paws from under the door did nothing to improve my situation. The humans did, however, carry me down to my bathroom when the strange men left for lunch. Good thing, too. Enough said about that.
I will admit to a moment of panic as the woman shuffled my beloved bacon toy and basket of brushes into another room. Later, I sniffed them all and they seemed fine, but I’ve been back to check on them regularly. You just never know. Only my bacon toy is truly dependable.
I’ve been an emotional wreck and turning to food for comfort. The other night, I licked both food bowls – one for soft, one for hard – to an empty, glowing sheen. I hungered for more. I padded up the staircase toward the people who claim to love me most. “HEY!”, I cried. “HEY! MY FOOD BOWLS ARE EMPTY!” The woman rolled over. The man, who calls me Sweetie, told me the time for some strange reason, as if I care that it’s 2 am! Sadly, more food was not given for several hours. This worried me terribly and I left a hairball on the bedside rug to show my displeasure.
All that’s left for the humans are two lawn chairs and the black rectangle that shows moving pictures. I’ve heard them speaking in hushed tones about all of us going to London together tomorrow. That means a dreaded car trip, therefore I’m saving my voice today so that I may sing opera during the entire journey. Scaramouche! Scaramouche! I will not go quietly! What about my wants and needs? I didn’t even manage to exact revenge on the evil grey cat.
Oh, I worry so. Will I have a clean bathroom? Will the unreliable humans remember my food? My toys, beds, fuzzy pouf? Now, if someone would kindly top up my bowls, I have some anxiety to deal with. Thank you.
Your friend,
Miss Sugar